Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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the water running into the tub, suddenly decided to take a long walk. Since calling him is no use, you try to think of a place he would hide. He ' s not under the stove, or in the coal bin, but maybe he ' s under your bed. Right you are. There he is, with the most innocent look on his face. Knowing it would be better to come out of his own accord than be pulled out, he obediently follows you to the cellar and his most hated moment. The easiest way to get him into the tub is to pick him up by the collar and throw him in, feet first. But this is easier said than done. As soon as Rover sees the detested water, he struggles and squirms like a mountain lion. Finally there is a splash, and the first part of your work is completed. Quickly you grab the soap and brush and begin to scrub, amidst a scramble of paws and fur, a shower of water, barks and yelps. It ' s a good idea to wear a pair of shorts or a bathing suit while you ' re at this job, because you ' re sure to end up as wet as poor Rover. The rinsing is a combination of throwing out the dirty, soapy water, and pouring fresh water back in with one hand, and holding a squirming, soapy dog with the other hand. When this is completed, back goes Rover for the last time. Then out he comes to be dried off, but as soon as he feels dry, solid ground again, he scampers away. Taking for granted he will dry himself, and thankful you don ' t have to do it, you set about cleaning up the mess. But if you ' re wise, you ' ll listen to the advice of an old hand at this job, and find out where Rover has gone, for, if I know that dog, you ' ll find him in the garden, rolling in sand and mud to his heart ' s content. Margaret Ann Adams, Form IIIa, Gumming House. A MOUNTAIN VILLAGE IT WAS a warm summer ' s day, and we decided to take lunch and go for a hike up the mountain-side. Shortly after noon we set off, and after a pleasant climb of about an hour, we stopped to eat. Our resting place was shaded and grassy, and jutted over the village we had left. I stretched out on the grass, and leaned over to survey the scene below me. I found, to my surprise, that we were not very high above the village; I could distinctly see the tiny houses huddling together, separated only by narrow, dirt paths. Peasants wound in and out between the houses; the milk-maid with her pail, the washer-woman with her wash-tub, an old shepherd with his crook, helped make up the scene. The sun shone brilliantly, and birds could be heard singing happily in the trees. The old shepherd started up the mountain-side with his goats before him and his crook in hand. The tinkling sound of a cow-bell and the occasional lowing of cattle were heard in the distance. The usual din of everyday movement was barely audible to me, but what I could hear only added to the pleasures of the scene. I rolled over, gazing int ently into the bright blue sky, and I felt suddenly happy. Ardis Cartwright, Form Vb, Ross House. [19]

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THE VERDICT THE JUDGE, with his wig sHghtly askew and his glasses on the edge of his nose, sat calm and silent, waiting. He had become accustomed long ago to this moment, before the jury gave its verdict. As for the rest of the court room, they sat with tense, anxious faces — particularly the accused, for to him the verdict meant life or death. The foreman began to speak, and a deadly silence fell over the room. He made it clear that this had been a difficult case to decide, but the jury had finally agreed that the defendant was guilty of murder in the third degree. The defendant slumped forward, his face ashen, his hands desperately clutching the arms of his chair. Suddenly his body went limp, and he was carried out of the court room to be revived. Immediately there was an excited buzz of voices, and the judge ' s hammering on his desk with the gavel went entirely unheeded. Clearly, this was not the decision the public had been expecting. A woman sat apart from the crowd, silently weeping. It was her son that had been found guilty, and now was going to pay his debt to society. Utter despair was written on her face, for there was no hope left, although she knew in her heart her son was innocent. The court room was in complete sympathy with the defendant, and most voiced their opinions loudly. Others sat shocked, too stunned to move. In the far corner, a group of friends gathered around the victim ' s wife, saying how lucky it was the guilty party had been brovight to justice. The attorney for the defence solaced himself and the defendant ' s mother by saying that there was a slight chance for another hearing, but he did not sound very reassuring. The court adjourned, and the people dispersed, still criticizing the verdict. Perhaps justice had been done, perhaps it had not. Whatever the case, the accused was in God ' s hands, to do with as He saw fit. Ann Manthorp, Form Vb, Fairley House. H O AND ROVER To ANIMAL lovers who own dogs I would like to dedicate this story. It ' s lovely to own your own dog, to be able to play with him, and to know that when you come home from school he ' ll be waiting for you. But owning a dog, or any pet, is not all fun, for the dog as well as for you. There comes a time when Rover must have a bath. After finding the tub and pouring warm water into it, you get the brush and soap. Then you walk into the living-room to look for Rover, who is usually lying on your mother ' s best chair, but to your surprise he is not there. It seems that Rover, on hearing [18]

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LEFT BEHIND DURING MY LIFE I have been lost several times. The first time was when I was a little girl of about five or six. We had gone to pick raspberries for supper. After picking my cupful of berries, I took them to the jeep and put them in a container on the seat. Going back to the spot where I had been picking, I saw my cousin, who was cramming berries into his mouth. I decided to follow his example. I stepped into a thicket of raspberry bushes and ate my fill. When I stepped out, the jeep (in reality a land-rover which could go over sand and snow because of a special four-wheel drive) was gone. I looked everywhere for it. I called, but it was not there. They had gone and left me. With tears streaming down my cheeks I started to follow the road home. I remembered Daddy talking of bear tracks which had been seen around where we ' d been picking berries. I also remembered the bulls that were out on the road farther on, which I had to pass. Then I saw a green car, and almost went to it for a drive home, but I had been warned never to get into a strange car with strange people. I walked miserably on, when suddenly I heard a honking. I looked up and saw our jeep speeding across the sand to me, and honking all the time. To me our battered jeep was the most beautiful thing on earth. Daddy dried my tears and explained that there were so many children that at first I hadn ' t been missed, and they were half-way home before they realized that I was not with them. As I got into the jeep I decided always to stay close to it and keep it in sight. Janet Beattie, Form IIIa, Gumming House. IN SUMMER YING ON THE silver-white sands of the Island of Eigg one hot sunny I afternoon in the middle of August, I watched nature ' s beauty spellbound. It was as though I had closed my eyes to this world and opened them seconds later in new and beautiful surroundings. The previous day had been wet and misty, and now the grass was a richer green than before, contrasting with the deep blue of the sea, which by now was glittering under the rays of the afternoon sun, her calm broken only by the occasional ripple slipping silently onto the hot sand. Beyond, I could see the majestic purple peaks of the Coolin hills silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky. The grey and black- backed gulls dipped and dived along the shore in search of food, calling loudly and clearly as if in distress. I sat up slowly, just in time to see the pointed bow of a little sailboat appearing round the headland, her sails, full-rigged and white, bending in the breeze. The scent of the wild flowers seemed stronger and the drone of the bees louder in the stillness. This tranquil picture veiled in beauty slowly faded, and I slept peacefully. Alice Craib, Arts VI, Ross House. [20]